


Fair Game

by BrackenBound



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Blood Loss, Coffee Tables, Hospitals, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24639574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrackenBound/pseuds/BrackenBound
Summary: Cavalier Ekon are systematically targeting members of the Guard, and any hunter is fair game. Geoffrey is attacked and brought to Pembroke Hospital, where he is treated by their trauma specialist: a new leech doctor.-----Warm, luscious liquid permeated the gauze and soaked between his fingers. It smelled delicious and then some, made Jonathan want to melt to the floor and lick. He shook off this thought with effort. He shifted to apply pressure and gingerly lifted the man's neck and head to elevate them on a pillow. Jonathan kept count of Geoffrey's heartbeats for awhile to occupy his mind as his hand was coated in blood.Jonathan crouched to inspect the wound and feel for where the blood was rising. It was bloody and raw, reminiscent of an animal bite and was nearly the size of his palm. Some of the damage was surface level, as if blunt teeth had scraped the skin back. The attacker had pierced a carotid artery in at least one or two places. There was no questioning which varietal of beast had done the damage: a beast like Jonathan had become.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

Pembroke was a godsend– no, a stroke of luck. If there were any gods, they had turned away from Jonathan Reid. He had stumbled through the streets of London as a hunted man, and had run to the only arms that were open, those of Edgar Swansea and a hospital staff that seemed to hold out hope against insuperable odds.

It was his second night in the hospital, and the first night he had found any sense of relaxation in his work or a firm grasp on his own self-control. He could almost forget, for a spare moment, that he had become something far from human. He dressed, grateful for the familiar white coat of a doctor that Edgar had supplied him with. 

Jonathan examined himself in a mirror as he buttoned the coat. Edgar had been right to call him a walking corpse. It was this deathly quality that tempted Jonathan to look at his reborn self at length, to regard the subtle and unsubtle changes that had befallen him. Jonathan saw the lack of fresh blood flow in some of his tissue, which worsened its pale cast, and a strangeness in his eyes. He couldn't place the strangeness, perhaps it was in some pupillary response he was missing, or some tilt of perception in his new eyes that made him see himself differently. 

Regardless, something broader was off about him, he was sure of it. He clenched a fist and squinted at his face, trying to place it, and trying to temper his newfound self-hatred. He sighed and unfurled his fist, then drew in a breath reflexively.

_ Oh _ , that was it. The breath, he– he had forgotten about that. He was going to need to do that for appearances. Breathing. He tried to think about this in a clinical tone, go about it as a scientist. Certainly, he would have to be careful not to seem overly strange, but none of those he had met, save for Edgar who was something of an expert, had taken particular interest in his exanimate features.

He supposed he should also make periodic, mock use of the lavatories for appearances.

Jonathan ventured into the hospital, which smelled like humans and a hundred other things Jonathan could have named had they not assaulted his new senses in a hoard.

Most of all, but perhaps not worst of all, he could smell blood breaking free, and his mind buzzed with the idea of it, buzzed like a lightbulb with awkward wiring.

Jonathan put himself to work observing patients' ailments and conversations. The hospital was a decently oiled machine, grinding its few gears with admirable conviction, and Jonathan was relieved to slot into it.

Only long stay patients recognized him as out of place, others assumed he was yet another doctor come to gaze at them. He took his leave when a prickle of new instinct reminded him of the impending day.

As he lay down to sleep, Jonathan was overcome with the sense that something momentous was rising, unsettling the world beneath him as it went. 

——— [| _87_ ———

"He needs a doctor!"

_ Shouting, there was _ –

Jonathan stumbled upright, supporting himself on the wall of his room. 

"He needs a doctor!" a frantic voice called from out front of the hospital. Jonathan could hear the hospital staff and patients rising to attention, as well as the shuffle of linens as one of the other live-in doctors turned over to go back to sleep. Jonathan dressed quickly, donned his white coat and moved to the stairs a little faster than he meant to.

He wished he hadn't rushed there; the scent of blood suffused his senses like a squeeze of fresh lime, harsh and impossible to disregard. He clutched the banister to tether himself, unsure which actions blood could drive a vampire to take. His thoughts flashed to the warmth of Mary as he bled her out like a mindless murderer; the smell of blood had washed out his logic. 

The hospital door closed of its own thunderous accord and the sound bucked him back to reality. Two men, dressed in dark coats and armed to the teeth, were supporting a third with similar weaponry. 

The man _did_ need a doctor. Blood coated the side of his neck and continued to well up from a messy wound. What blood did not soak into his clothes dripped on the floor. Jonathan tried to discern how much blood the man had lost; his face was so devoid of color that Jonathan fleetingly thought of his own complexion; his breathing was shallow and fast; his heartbeat was rapid. Jonathan could smell his stress, his sweat. His eyes were closed, and Jonathan could not discern if he was conscious. Probably not.

"We need a doctor!" One of the men called again.

Edgar rushed out of his office and startled as he saw Jonathan looming at the top of the stairs. 

"Jonathan. Get out of sight." Edgar whispered sharply. Clearly, Edgar did not trust him to be around a patient with so much damage, and Jonathan could not blame him. Jonathan slipped back towards his office, walking casually as not to draw eyes, but saw no reason to truly divest from the situation.

Jonathan listened as the two men half carried, half dragged the man to a private hospital room suited for emergencies. The lot of them reminded Jonathan of renegade soldiers. 

"He was attacked by a leech." One of the men seethed. "Lost track of him for a minute."

Jonathan heard– were they _shaking_ the poor man?

"He's out." Edgar said. His heartbeat spluttered on with anxiety. Edgar tended towards anxiety when treating traumatic wounds, it seemed. "I– he needs a specialist this time."

"Will he live?" 

"I don't know. Out, get out." Edgar insisted, and muttered something about war zones. The two men left hastily, talking nervously among themselves about leeches and "the boss".

"Dr. Reid. Come here, please." Edgar said with forced composure. Jonathan could hear him effortlessly at the distance.

He did, passing onlooking hospital staff. He stepped in. Edgar was by the injured man. He had both hands to a bundle of gauze that was shot through with red.

"Geoffrey has lost a lot of blood." Edgar said, shaking his head. Jonathan heard clotting blood crack as the doctor moved his hand. He stared, hyper focused on both the blood and a solution. "I thought, maybe you, you're the trauma expert. Field doctor." 

"He needs a blood transfusion." Jonathan surmised. The man's, Geoffrey's heart was straining to function with, at minimum, a third less blood than normal. "Do you have the equipment?"

"Yes, I think we can make do." Edgar said. Jonathan could see sweat on his face, a thin shiny layer. "Here. Hold."

Jonathan surged forward to take over the pressure application on the wound. Edgar left to rummage for supplies.

Jonathan lifted the man's head up to rest on a pillow, just enough to elevate the wound. There was a thin line to walk when treating neck wounds of this type. The brain needed blood and the bleeding needed stymying. 

The wound bled incrementally with every beat of Geoffrey's heart and being brought here in a rush hadn't given it the chance to stop. Jonathan wrapped his hand with cotton gauze and applied pressure to the man's neck. He tried not to look too closely at first. Edgar didn't tarry, sprinting off to gather equipment for the transfusion. Jonathan looked down at the wound and wondered if they were both mad for allowing a vampire near this much blood, or if it was just him for allowing himself to be here. God, there was so much of it.

Warm, luscious liquid permeated the gauze and soaked between his fingers. It smelled delicious and then some, made Jonathan want to melt to the floor and lick. He shook off this thought with effort. Jonathan kept count of Geoffrey's heartbeats for awhile to occupy his mind as his hand was coated in blood.

Jonathan crouched to inspect the wound and feel for where the blood was rising. It was bloody and raw, reminiscent of an animal bite and was nearly the size of his palm. Some of the damage was surface level, as if blunt teeth had scraped the skin back. The attacker had pierced a carotid artery in at least one or two places. There was no questioning which varietal of beast had done the damage: a beast like Jonathan had become.

Edgar returned after... a few minutes, Jonathan reasoned, though he had utterly lost his hold on time.

"We need a donor and some saline." Jonathan said plainly, adding a layer of gauze.

"He's a universal receiver." Edgar said. The doctor rolled up a sleeve. The tang of Edgar's blood added to the air as the doctor drew his own blood into the middle of a blood infusion syringe. "How much does he need?"

Jonathan let out a cold breath he had been holding. He wanted to send Edgar to get saline, which was not among the supplies, but he didn't want Edgar to leave and take the blood with him. Was he instinctively opposed to sending Edgar now that he was bleeding?

_ Rational thinking only _ , he thought. Human blood would do for blood volume just as well as saline. Thus, there was no reason to send Edgar away.

"A half pint, plus or minus a couple ounces." He flexed the fingers holding the gauze. Geoffrey's breath deepened, and for a moment Jonathan thought he was going to open his eyes. "You know him?"

"Yes, he has quite the following around London. Geoffrey is a fanatic, if I do say so myself." Edgar grimaced as he drew his own blood. Jonathan had done it a few times, in the most dire of emergencies. It was thoroughly unpleasant. "He's got a– a gang of hunters and religious men that go after all Ekon and undead beasts in the city. The Guard of Priwen." He said, naming them with a tone verging on disdain.

This gave Jonathan pause. His mind searched for a distraction and found it in the soft flowing sound of Edgar's blood. Undead beasts like him? Moreover...

"How is he going to feel about a vampire treating him?" Jonathan bit out. "I think I know the hunters you speak of. They're a menace."

"I think he'd rather not die." Edgar offered, though they both knew it was a flimsy premise. "I thought it might be good for..." Edgar struggled to find a word as Jonathan stared at him. "Relations."

"Right." Jonathan sighed. Great. Well, hopefully this Geoffrey could muster some gratefulness for a leech if he pulled through. Jonathan made a mental note to talk to Edgar later and tell him to give patients from the Guard to other doctors.

Edgar replaced Jonathan's hand at Geoffrey's neck so Jonathan could set up infusion equipment. Jonathan supposed he had done this procedure a few hundred times more than Edgar, and thus it made sense for Jonathan to take lead, though it unsettled him to do it on this vampire hating man. 

Jonathan strapped Geoffrey's wrist into a splint, serving as an arm board, to immobilize the wrist and prevent it from twisting inward and plunging the infusion needle through veins. The needle available for infusions was rather thick, and would easily puncture other tissue if jostled, potentially inflicting more damage that someone laid this low did not need.

Jonathan picked up the syringe and tapped it. Edgar had filled with a few ounces of human blood. He pinched the rubber tubes that jutted out from it to prevent blood from dripping prematurely. He set the needle into a vein in Geoffrey's bound wrist and released the rubber tubing so blood could flow. Jonathan covered Geoffrey's upper arm with a hand that could be used to still him in case he woke. 

Jonathan's senses had grown accustomed to the smell of blood that was not for him, and had begun to remind him of sounds outside. There were men, Geoffrey's renegades. Men with torches and heavy footsteps that suggested they were carrying bulky gear. Some sounded young, bold. Boyful, even. The hospital staff had returned to their rounds or their rests. Someone was whispering about hunters, voicing uneasy thoughts that Jonathan was certain were not meant for his ears.

When the tube emptied, Jonathan removed the needle and traded places with Edgar to refill the syringe. Jonathan pressed on the neck wound again. The blood under the gauze had clotted decently, most of the blood Jonathan felt was sticky rather than fresh. Jonathan bent down to examine it again for reasons he told himself were purely medicinal and not an urge from his new nature. Movement stole his attention and he found himself looking at the open pale blue eyes of Geoffrey McCullum.

It wasn't to last. Geoffrey shoved himself away from Jonathan and seemed surprised when he began falling off the bed. Jonathan grabbed him by an arm; it was all he could do to stop the disoriented man from crashing to the floor. Geoffrey tried to grab for something with his free hand– one of his many knives, undoubtedly– but his fingers were bound to the arm board by an unyielding leather strap. Blood loss left many confused and dizzy, and this man seemed no exce—

" _LEECH,_ you let a fucking leech into your hospital." Geoffrey snarled. Edgar jumped up into Geoffrey's view. Jonathan smelled blood well up into the gauze as Geoffrey's furious gaze followed Jonathan to a corner of the room he hadn't realized he shrank back to. 

"Geoffrey. He's a specialist." Edgar protested. "The best we have."

"For fucks sake." Geoffrey seethed. He laid his head back. Jonathan suspected his vision was spinning and flecked with dark spots. "I would have been fine."

"Dr. Swansea, bring some saline, please." Jonathan said, watching Geoffrey, whose eyes were narrow, but alert. It felt easier to let Edgar walk away now. "It will be faster."

"Of course." Edgar said. He stepped out.

Geoffrey started to scrabble with the straps of his arm guard. He succeeded solely in smudging his blended blood over his skin and coat sleeve. Edgar looked rather lost and was shakily holding his own hands. 

This man reminded Jonathan of many a truculent soldier searching for the quickest path through their ailment and back to the fight. They tended to be in poor state.

"No, you wouldn't have been fine. You're lucky your men brought you here when they did." Jonathan attested. He folded his arms and listened to Geoffrey's heaving breaths.

Geoffrey stared at Jonathan, as if looking for something. Jonathan wished he could proffer whatever Geoffrey sought as an olive branch and get back to treating the man. Geoffrey ground his teeth, all too audible in Jonathan's sensitive ears. His eyes fell to Jonathan's red hands and smears on his coat. Geoffrey blinked at them.

"Your heart is working perilously hard." Jonathan said, edging closer to Geoffrey. "That's why your head feels wrong."

"Your tricks won't work on me." Geoffrey said, voice low. He struggled to keep his eyes open and level a glare at Jonathan.

"I don't have any tricks." Jonathan sputtered. "I have medical science. For the King's sake, will you at _least_ drink some water?"

Geoffrey tried to lift his head and groaned as his dizziness flared up. When that proved to prohibit any significant movement, Geoffrey found the gauze on his neck with his free hand and he started fumbling with its threads.

"Don't—" Jonathan's stomach clenched, he hated watching patients sabotage their own health, thinking they knew better than a studied doctor. Geoffrey winced as the gauze started to tear.

That was it, Jonathan determined. He could excuse a certain quantity of surly behavior for a man in poor condition, but there were limits. Geoffrey had come to a hospital. He was going to get treated like any patient in an altered state.

Without giving Geoffrey time to evade him, Jonathan grabbed Geoffrey's wrist tightly so as to restrict his tendons. A thoroughly murderous look burned in Geoffrey's eyes, which Jonathan noticed were focusing well. Geoffrey started to say something– perhaps a curse– but Jonathan was faster.

" _Leave it._ " Jonathan instructed curtly. The muscles in Geoffrey's jaws had locked, grinding his teeth again. His wrist flexed weakly under Jonathan's hand. 

"Is it infected?" Geoffrey demanded, shaking now. Jonathan thought he caught fear in the man's eyes.

"Not that I saw." Jonathan answered. He lowered Geoffrey's wrist to the bed, finding minimal resistance. "Infection usually takes longer to develop. You should be more concerned about the blood loss."

Edgar walked back in with the saline set up.

"Reid," Geoffrey said, That was a good sign, he had enough wherewithal to read the name stitched on Jonathan's coat, "Vampirism."

"Is it infected with..." Jonathan had to pause. He glanced at Edgar. "Vampirism?"

"Yes, damn it." Geoffrey growled back.

"You cannot become a vampire from a bite." Edgar said, looking stupefied. "We've discussed this." 

Geoffrey scoffed and seemed to immediately regret the movement.

"He's confused." Jonathan said. "It's normal."

Geoffrey, who appeared to have finally burned through his will to counter the doctors, allowed Jonathan to feed the saline solution into his tapped vein.

_ We didn't have time to warm it up, it's unpleasant, I know. I'm sorry.  _ Jonathan thought, unable to bring himself to voice the sentiment to a man glaring daggers at him.

"You would have to ingest a vampire's blood to get that kind infection." Edgar said to Geoffrey, settling in a chair just out of man's reach. "Research suggests a few drops is enough."

"I think the explanation is good." Jonathan said. He wanted to hear more, God, he wanted to know what Edgar knew about this. Ostensibly, it could also help ground Geoffrey.

“Leeches think they can do what they want.” Geoffrey rasped. “Be acting like they owned the place, if it weren’t for the Guard.”

Jonathan stopped himself from voicing his reflexive, prepared bedside manner response of _I’m sorry, that sounds difficult._

“Targeting the team leaders.” Geoffrey said to Edgar. “Lost two of ‘em this week.”

Jonathan hadn’t the foggiest idea of why Geoffrey would tell this all to Edgar. He ascribed it to a lack of lucidity; perhaps Geoffrey had mistaken Edgar for someone else. 

“That confirms some of my fears.” Edgar said wearily, looking at the floor. “Some elder, rogue Ekon are active in London.”

Geoffrey seemed to lose his thread of focus on this topic and returned to watching Jonathan sit. 

When the saline was set up to Jonathan's satisfaction, he moved back to Geoffrey's neck wound. Geoffrey jerked up his free hand over it, as if to protect his neck from Jonathan. Geoffrey's movement was more fluid now, another good sign. 

Jonathan could almost admire the man's resilience and resistance in the same breath. Geoffrey was unquestionably fit, built like a woodsman, and with the exception of a few mental missteps, was tracking with his environment quite well despite his blood loss. Jonathan could hear him testing his muscles to check his constitution. 

"Do not move that arm." Jonathan said. "You're creating breaks in the clot, and in your state, you might not sense the pain."

"You can smell that, can't you?" Geoffrey said.

"Yes." Jonathan sighed. He looked away. "I... Suppose I wish I couldn't, but there's no sense in throwing out the data."

He swore he heard Edgar murmur "fascinating". Jonathan quite agreed, though it was horrifying in equal measure.

Jonathan took up a chair opposite Edgar. "I don't suppose you'll tell us what happened."

Geoffrey laughed a breathy, unvoiced laugh. "Leech got me, the Guard got the leech."

Jonathan said nothing. Soldiers tended to like telling their tales, and he had a hunch this one would as well given the space.

"You're actually a doctor, aren't you?" Geoffrey asked.

"I am, and I'm from London. I've been serving as a military surgeon." Jonathan replied.

"A doctor and a leech." Geoffrey muttered. "Hell."

"Dr. Reid is a prominent surgeon in his field." Edgar piped up. The words rang as defensive to Jonathan's ears; defending his choice to allow Jonathan in, he supposed. Into the hospital, into this room.

Geoffrey lifted a finger. He looked at Jonathan again, scrutinizing. "Wait. You're the one who ran from my men after asking them for help."

"I would rather—" Jonathan started, words firm.

"Shut up." Geoffrey grunted. "They said you killed an innocent woman by a mass grave."

"I didn't know what I was _doing_." Jonathan said, voice breaking. He wasn't ready for anyone to start digging about in a wound that was so fresh and raw. "I do now, and I know how to be a doctor, so—"

"You can't get your eyes off my neck, Reid." Geoffrey deadpanned

"And you have been looking at me like– like I'm some kind of rabid dog." Jonathan said, standing abruptly. Geoffrey flinched. Fine by Jonathan. Geoffrey started to speak, but Jonathan broke in over him. "I was only reborn for a few minutes, begging for someone to help me out of my living nightmare, when your men hunted me down. I was lost to myself, I... I killed my own _sister_ without realizing I had done more than embrace her. I came here, to Pembroke Hospital, to try to free London from the epidemic. When I'm done with that, maybe I'll try to understand your cause and whatever else you and your Priwen mob think I should be doing other than dying by your hand."

The two humans stared at him; Edgar, open mouthed and properly speechless, but not angry with Jonathan for his outburst, and Geoffrey, with his brow in a deep and wary crease.

Jonathan took a breath.

"As your doctor," Jonathan said in a low voice that was perhaps more distressing for his patient than any overt anger he could muster. "I can't guarantee that you're going to recover from this completely. I will discharge you tomorrow if there's no signs of infection. Good. Day."

Jonathan took his leave, but could not stop what his ears picked up as he walked upstairs.

“Send in some of the Guard.” Geoffrey told Edgar. 

“I don’t want your men in here.” Edgar protested. “They’ve already availed themselves of the gardens around the Pembroke. No, Geoffrey, lie down, _please_.” 

“Get the Sheens.” Geoffrey said. It came out like an order and his tone carried the implication that it was an enforceable one. “God _damn it_ Swansea, some leech is after me. I won’t be separated from the pack again.”

Geoffrey started to sit up again.

“Alright, alright!” Edgar shot back, exasperated. Jonathan could understand; Geoffrey was far from a model patient. “Stay put. Don’t fuss with the saline.” 

Geoffrey said something reassuring to the empty room, a few soft words in a language Jonathan could not understand, but found himself ruminating on as he lay to rest that morning.


	2. Chapter 2

The following evening, Geoffrey McCullum and his Guard were gone, and Jonathan felt rather foolish for thinking that Geoffrey was a man who obeyed doctor's orders. 

After stepping out for a few rats, he occupied himself with running tests on his own strange blood. He paid no mind as a small crowd began to gather in the courtyard of Pembroke, men and women whose footsteps were weighty and rattled their equipment; it wasn't until he Jonathan heard the crackling of a torch that he realized it was the Guard. 

It was inevitable, he thought bitterly. It mattered not what service he had done for Geoffrey, the Guard would yet try to put Jonathan to rights. Why else would they be here, again? As Jonathan bore no death wish, he readied himself for a fight, picking up the sturdiest of surgical tools, and waited near his balcony. 

He cast his attention to the lower floor of the hospital, where he could identify a few patients and doctors by the sounds of their breath and movement alone. The hospital seemed to be, as it ever was, about its usually business. No one was stomping up the stairs to kill him, nor were they harassing the hospital staff for his location. It was eminently puzzling.

He tucked a surgical saw into an inner coat pocket and traipsed into the hall, casually overlooking the section of the hospital visible from the top of the stairs. The smell of a fresh and well-bloodied injury drifted to his nose as a door opened and closed below. Descrying no impending ambush, he sought out Edgar, who he could hear muttering to himself as he pulled thread through skin. Edgar had a patient, that much he could tell, and there was another person in the room with him. Jonathan opted not to interrupt and started to walk down the hall.

"I can hear you, Reid." said a voice— _shit—_ said _Geoffrey's_ voice from inside the room. 

"Don't bother him, he's doing his job." Edgar demanded, pausing his needlework. 

"Is that why he's lurking outside the door?" Geoffrey said, folding his arms. 

Jonathan wasn't keen on the idea of letting this bully of a man continue on his high horse. Geoffrey opened the door to the room and stood in the doorway, as if that would somehow keep Jonathan further at bay than the solid wood of the door.

"I told him not to come into the hospital," Edgar said with the annoyance of a man referring to an impudent child. "But he insisted."

"I see. Well, that comes as no surprise. He is an aggravating and insistent man." Jonathan said, mirroring Geoffrey's stance. Geoffrey's face betrayed nothing, but Jonathan could hear Geoffrey's knuckles creak as he clenched his hands.

Jonathan mentally kicked himself for kicking the queen of the cultist hornet's nest. 

Geoffrey smiled. It was a smile Jonathan could imagine him wearing as he cleaned his weapons after a kill, and it conveyed all manner of unfulfilled threats. Jonathan was struck with the impulse to retreat, but he was tentative to turn his back to this man.

"I wouldn't have to come into your hospital if you didn't have a leech sniffing out vulnerable citizens." Geoffrey said.

"Jonathan, would you take a look at this? I want your opinion." Edgar said, looking at Jonathan over the Irishman's shoulder. 

"Certainly." Jonathan replied with performative poise. Geoffrey held his position for a couple seconds, muttered a curse, and stepped back into the room to let Jonathan pass.

Jonathan walked past Geoffrey with as much confidence as he could gather and reminded himself that the man wasn't in top fighting health due to his recent injuries. 

The patient, a man in his twenties, was watching Jonathan warily. He had a nasty slice up his abdomen that had resulted in considerable spilt blood and split skin, but no organ damage that Jonathan could see or smell. Edgar was nearly done stitching the gash.

"How long do you think it will need, by the look of it?" Edgar asked, waving Jonathan closer. Jonathan was absolutely sure Edgar could have, and likely already had, answered for himself. Not wanting to alert Geoffrey to the superfluous nature of Edgar's question, Jonathan looked at the wound from a safe distance.

"Have them removed in a week." Jonathan said after brief consideration. He could see Geoffrey's incensed expression from the corner of his eyes and his ears burned. 

Yells broke out in the courtyard, someone had come in with more Guard in tow, and stirred a up a fuss. Jonathan turned his head to try to hear it better.

"Whatever you're doing, stop it." snapped Geoffrey, whom Jonathan was inadvertently facing. The sounds of trouble, which Jonathan had no desire to wade into, rose and fell in a matter of moments. One of the Guard with heavy carry walked into the hospital, breathing harsh and shallow, as if they had been recently winded. 

"One of your people came in." Jonathan said in an altogether measured tone. Geoffrey pushed past him in the hallway, knocking Jonathan's shoulder with his own, and promptly shut the door just as the Guard started to glance in Jonathan's direction. Fabric scratched wood as Geoffrey leaned against the door. Edgar made a _tsk tsk_ sound and clipped a thread from the stitches.

"Speak." Geoffrey ordered.

"Crossley's dead." choked the hunter. Jonathan could smell the brine of tears.

No, Jonathan thought, dread crashing over him in a wave. Crossley, as in _Clarence_ Crossley?

"Fucking hell."

"A leech came out of nowhere and killed her, dropped off a balcony. Toby says it's the same one from last night." 

Her. The word echoed in Jonathan's auditory memory. Not my Crossley. 

"Get back out there. I'll be right behind you." Geoffrey opened the door, bearing a look of consternation. Jonathan, still reeling from picturing Clarence's death, scarcely noticed. "Get up. We need to go."

Edgar made a pitchy noise of protest as the freshly mended hunter stood. 

"You can't be serious." He said, waving awkwardly at the patient, who did not seem to care for the gesture.

"Priwen will rest later. We've work to do." Geoffrey offered an assist to the younger hunter, who was determined to bear most of their own weight.

"Be seeing you." Edgar muttered as the hunters left. "Don't forget to write or say the occasional thank you for when we put you back together."

"You could send them somewhere else. Pembroke doesn't need to be their personal infirmary."

"I know, Jonathan. Priwen and the Brotherhood of St. Paul were the same organization, many years ago, and I'm loath to turn them away. Moreover, aren't other hospitals left." Edgar sighed and busied himself storing tools. "Priwen had all but died out a few years ago, now it seems those who have suffered great loss due to the epidemic are drawn to their ranks. As for their killer vampire, I can only wish them good hunting."

"Do you know who they were talking about? Crossley?" 

"I'm afraid I don't. We had best be back about our business. Mr. Woodbead has come in for his monthly neuralgia treatment. Sometimes I think he just likes the opium."

"I'll see to him right away." Jonathan said.

"Arthur Woodbead. His dosage is in his file."

Jonathan went and the pulled the man's file from a cabinet halfway across the hospital. Even with his newly adept eyes, he needed to do a double take on the opium dose listed; it was higher than he had seen them prescribing for any other ailment by almost half. In a medical tent full of soldiers, opium was waved about like a magical wand, a perfect panacea for the broken bodies of men, or at least, their pain. It was incredibly convenient at the best of times, and at the worst, stolen by soldiers craving another dose. Jonathan resolved to discuss the matter with Edgar later.

Another doctor directed Jonathan to Mr. Woodbead.

"Who are you?" Mr. Woodbead snapped as Jonathan approached him.

"I'm Dr. Jonathan Reid." 

"I don't want to be treated by an doctor who's still wet behind the ears."

Jonathan set down Arthur's file and treatment substances on a side table. He tried to block out the ambient sounds and conversations in the hospital so he could give Mr. Woodbead his full attention.

"Sir, I assure you, I am a practiced physician." Jonathan said plainly. He picked up a pen and put it to a clean sheet in the file. "Could you describe the symptoms you're experiencing today?"

"Same as last time, time before, same as always. Stabbing pain in my temple." Mr. Woodbead asserted. Jonathan could not see any indications of pain but did note a tremor in the man's hands.

"Thank you."

"You were outside with that Guard of Priwen, weren't you? Did you see a young man? He's my spitting image if you shave off enough years."

"I'm sorry, I didn't see anyone like that." In truth, Jonathan hadn't seen the courtyard clan at all, but wasn't about to close the book on the subject. "He's a member of the Guard?"

Mr. Woodbead's challenging expression softened.

"My son Andrew joined them a few months ago. Hasn't been sight or sound of him since."

Jonathan had a sinking suspicion in his chest that the boy had fallen prey to one of many undead monstrosities. But Jonathan was not going to be the one to take hope away from this man.

"I'll be sure to let you know if I hear anything about him." Jonathan promised. "Are you very familiar with the Guard, then?"

Mr. Woodbead scoffed. "They're just another gang, they prey on anyone young and naïve enough to join. I know how it works, I invented it. Hardly heard a thing from them in years, now those bastards are using the fear of the sickness to bolster their numbers." 

Jonathan was tempted to ask him about the monster hunting aspect of the gang, but didn't want to push his luck in a well-lit room where his inhuman skin was on display.

"Your medicine, sir." Jonathan heard footsteps nearby. He ignored them in favor of making eye contact with Mr. Woodbead.

"Pardon me, Dr. Reid, have you seen Ms. Howcroft?" asked one of the surgeons, Dr. Waverley Ackroyd.

"No." Jonathan said, brows furrowing. 

Dr. Ackroyd _hmmed_. "She's probably hiding from her imagined assailants again."

"Please excuse me, sir." Jonathan said to Mr. Woodbead, who has his pills in hand and was no longer particularly concerned with Jonathan. 

Jonathan walked the hospital and the surrounding gardens, listening for Thelma Howcroft and the low hissing and growling noises she liked to make when no one was near her, or when she was quite near to Thomas Elwood. She wasn't on the grounds, and she was in no condition to go stay elsewhere. Jonathan did not like the odds that she had boasted of her vampiric delusion in earshot of one of the Guard and was being dragged off for execution.

Jonathan jumped to his balcony— a new trick he was becoming rather fond of— and found Edgar in his office. 

"Come in, Jonathan." 

Jonathan closed the door to the office behind him. The room smelled oddly chemical, like a strong soap or cleanser.

"My poor Jonathan. How are you feeling?" Edgar folded his hands on his desk.

"I'm alright." Jonathan said. He didn't bother to sit. "I'm concerned for Ms. Howcroft. Dr. Ackroyd and I cannot find her on the premises."

Edgar's eyebrows went up. "Highly unusual."

"I think the Guard took her for claiming that she was a vampire. If there is a chance she's still alive, I want to go look for her, but I don't know where to start."

"This is terrible news. The Guard of Priwen is probably out in full force in London right now due to their hunt." Edgar put his fingers on his temples and looked at his desk. "I suppose you could go to their local command post and inquire. Geoffrey claims they don't kill humans, but I think some of them don't know better, and Ms. Howcroft is rather striking." 

"Do you know where they might have taken her?" 

"I can only imagine they would bring her to one of their outposts if they found her and chose not to kill her on the spot. If only we could find Geoffrey, explain the situation."

"We should make haste. Where's their nearest outpost?" Jonathan prompted. There was a quickening in his body, a tension or anxiety or fizzing— it refused to be pinned down— that concentrated near arteries; a readiness to move with power, a readiness to move as a hunter. 

"It's... here, I'll draw you a map. You will take care out there, won't you?" 

——— [| _87_ ———

The night washed over Jonathan like cool lake water. The evening air teemed with dusty, earthen notes, the allure of blood squirting in veins, the uneasy voices of the patrolling Guard and their occasional scuffles with a skal. He drank it in from the rooftops. It was convenient road to travel given that the Guard seldom looked up and weren't searching for men flitting from one roof to the next like alley cats. They minced words with each other when they thought that London wasn't listening, and all patrols passing each other asked the same question to their fellows while their hearts thumped insistently: "Anyone get the leech yet?"

They hadn't and Jonathan quite believed they wouldn't; he could evade them with ease except in their densest posts, and he was a vampire with but days of experience.

Jonathan took up a perch a few buildings north of the Priwen outpost. Every few seconds, he could hear a weighty step or door closing, but could not distinguish individual voices across the floors of the building. He thought he heard someone walk down stairs on the lowest level, perhaps into an old wine cellar or the like. The main entrance of the building had a rare guardsman leave or enter, and a few stationed at the front who were shooting the shit and their fluidity of movement and mouth suggested they had had a couple drinks.

To his mind, he had few options. One, climb in through a window and poke for Thelma. And then what? Two, pretend to be a guardsman, steal a uniform, sneak in. Three, go up to the guards with a mask over his mouth and nose as was recommended, but seldom done, for the epidemic, and state forthright the reason for his visit. The third appealed, as it was the least likely to get him into a fight with a room full of Priwen.

Jonathan descended his present building out of sight of the Guard. He covered his nose and mouth with a clean cloth mask, turned a corner onto the street with the outpost's entrance and walked towards it in a consistent and self-assured step. The Guard at the door watched him now, their faces sobered as they set aside a conversation about what they wanted to do when the skals were all dead and burned.

"You'd best turn around. Place is infested." One of the guardsmen called out. Jonathan could see the guardsman squinting at him over the light of a torch. Two others had their hands on their guns.

"Please allow me to identify myself. I'm Dr. Jonathan Reid." Jonathan called. The back of his neck prickled with doubt, but he had committed to this unpalatable endeavor. He forced himself to continue. "I work under Dr. Edgar Swansea at Pembroke Hospital. I need to speak to Geoffrey McCullum."

"What's this about?" 

Hell, could he tell them about Thelma? It seemed like the fastest track to them scrutinizing him for vampirism.

One of the other guards stood up, disregarding the first. "McCullum will be back around within the hour, you can wait for him inside."

"Thank you." Jonathan replied, relieved, too relieved to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

"Follow me." 

Jonathan followed the guard through a house that had seen better days and was not so far gone as to have forgotten them. A few guards availed themselves of the space, talking tactics, shooting the shit, sleeping. The guard lead Jonathan up several flights of stairs into what had once been a stately reading room, fitted with some new technology that diverged from the tried-and-true lightbulbs about most modern homes. The guard stopped at the door. Jonathan took this to mean he should walk in and wait, so he did. He relished the chance to get a bit of distance from the guard. He stole a glance up at the lights—

A switch, metal grating on metal, flipped by the guard—

The bulbs manifested into something more than lights and electricity and—

—and they were pain, violently loud, white pain that tore into his eyes like molten claws, found every gap in skin and cloth, rattled him to his teeth and lacerated his throat as he breathed in reflexively. The ground dealt a blow to him, he dared open his eyes to search for harbor, and found it in a coffee table just high enough for him to slink under it. Someone spoke, but the words made no sense, blotted out by the need to _hide_ , _run_ , _find dark_ , and miserable gasps that came from him. He crawled on his hands and knees, digging nails with new length into the carpet to pull himself along. He slid beneath it and gripped one of its legs hard enough to make wood fibers fracture.

A stiffness in his stomach unwound as the light ceased pounding him, he whimpered in relief. His eyes felt itchy and dry, giving him images at first all pain and blur, then palpitating and unyielding. There was metallic-tasting powder in the air that swirled as idly as dust motes in a sunbeam, but was intent on whisking away whatever strength the light hadn't. Jonathan pulled his eyes and forced himself to close them even as his instincts screeched at him to see and escape. His whole body itched— throat, lungs, skin— as a phantom hand patched his wounds.

The world was quiet again, save for the hum of the horrible lights blazing down at him. He listened, for a moment, listened with his ears tuned to the particular rhythm of the human circulatory system. There were no sounds of guards in the room, the stairs, or at the door, no soft or hard heartbeats, no living bodies to quench the thirst that was building in his throat and pressing on his thoughts. The wretched powder saturated the air and seemed to layer lead on Jonathan, dragging from him what strength he had left. 

How long he laid there, he could not have said, nor could he have pinpointed the moment when the pain-light dimmed or when sensations found coherence. He knew only when a living body was close enough to catch. His hand jerked out from under the table to grasp at its limb, but his fingertips only grazed it.

"—asked for you." Jonathan could tell that something was funny by tone. He couldn't see what.

"I'll deal with him." A gruff, familiar voice. The voice of a threat. Harsh, final. McCullum.

"Please." Jonathan tried to say. The words scraped on his dry throat and human-scented air washed in, promising to fix everything, like it had on the Docks days before, if he would just— " _No_." _Mercy_.

A door closed. Jonathan fumbled with his mask. He freed his eyes and nose; the world hurt still, faintly, without conviction.

"Stay down, Reid." The hunter circled him.

"Geoffrey, please listen to me." Each word came out wrong and grating.

The hunter paused. "Speak."

"Your men. They abducted a patient." Jonathan wheezed. "She's not a vampire. I swear it to you." 

"What's she look like?"

"She's petite, dark hair. Redness around the eyes from scratching." Jonathan said. He peeled himself off the floor and set himself on his elbows.

"I've seen that one." Geoffrey sighed, shaking his head. "It's a leech, alright. Damn fast one, too." 

"Ask... ask Edgar." He managed. "Or try her with the powder. She is only convinced that she is a vampire. She has a mental condition."

Geoffrey snorted. "I'm not going to kill you, Reid. You don't need to invent a reason for us to free a leech to rescue you."

"Geoffrey." Jonathan looked up at the hunter. "I'm serious." 

Geoffrey waved a hand. "Fine. I'll bring her up."

Wood snapped far below, cracked in on itself. The abruptness of it made Jonathan flinch.

"What is it?" Geoffrey demanded, stepping back from Jonathan.

Peals of laughter achingly familiar laughter, mixed with the smell of spilt blood, rose up from a lower floor. Jonathan's eyes went wide.

"An attack." Jonathan rasped.

" _Fuck_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woodbead got neuralgia three times in my game. I'm not even sure how that's possible. It takes so much opium to cure it in game, 15 units. The cure that uses the second highest opium amount is the migraine treatment, which takes 8. Just saying, that's a lot of opium ;) I'll leave you to decide for yourself what Woodbead's relationship with narcotics is...
> 
> I referenced this for some opium-related info, among other places: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/inside-story-americas-19th-century-opiate-addiction-180967673/
> 
> Much thanks to those who have left comments and kudos on this fic.
> 
> Cheers,  
> \- BrackenBound

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to an unnamed but greatly appreciated friend for beta reading this work. (But not Ch2 yet, I take full responsibility for those typos!)
> 
> [|87 symbol: I've seen this plague doctor art in a few places, namely Tumblr, and am not sure who to credit for the idea. Not my original ASCII art :)
> 
> This work was previously untitled.
> 
> Also, there's a pretty chill, small Vampyr server with a bunch of artists and fandom writers. Join us if you wish! https://discord.gg/u4ZPbvsHs8


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